


The Fight for You is All I've ever Known

by twolfshorts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twolfshorts/pseuds/twolfshorts
Summary: When Derek leaves, the pack deals with his absence. And then they deal with his presence.





	

The key feels familiar in Stiles' hand. He holds it tightly for a moment, lets it leave an imprint in his palm. Then, he's placing the key in the keyhole, and turning it. The door opens, as it always does. Stiles steps inside and stares. The loft looks dead. There is no furniture, save for the couch, that the pack pitched in to buy for pack nights. There are no pictures hanging on the walls that Allison insisted on framing to honor the memories they made, when things were not so hard.

The door closes behind Stiles and he makes his way to the kitchen. The only thing remaining here is the fridge that keeps Stiles' sodas cold. Stiles pays the electricity bill with the money he gets from his job. He takes out a coke, cracks it open, and heaves himself onto the counter. He takes slow. languid glugs as he kicks off his shoes, letting them clatter to the tiled floor unceremoniously. His legs swing back and forth minutely.

"Can you believe that Mr.Harris gave me detention?" he asks no one. "I'm not even in his class anymore and he's still out to get me." Stiles' voice echoes throughout the open floor plan, and the responding silence makes his heart ache. Derek has been gone for six months now. He hasn't called or texted. Stiles hates Derek Hale's guts.

The pack keeps saying that Derek is fine, that he will come back home eventually, that he hasn't forgotten them. Stiles doesn't believe it. He continues taking small sips of his soda, thinks about how Derek would have snatched it away from him by now in place of a water. Then, he would have leaned in to sneakily take a kiss, maybe. Stiles can't remember the feeling of their lips sliding together. He never thought it would be his last; he always assumed he'd have more. He thinks that he should have paid better attention.

Stiles' lip quirks up at the thought, and he slides himself down the counter in order to make his way to the couch. He grabs the cover that he keeps there from the stairs' banister. The couch is worn out, having sunk in from the weight of the pack piles, and there are grease stains from pizza that they will never get out. Somehow, Stiles feels at home when he lets himself drop into the soft material of it. His head finds the armrest, his body stretching out on the length of the couch, before he clumsily settles the blanket over his body. Stiles falls asleep.

Stiles dreams about Derek. He dreams about his stupidly handsome face, and his stupidly cute teeth, and his stupidly strong hands. Stiles can almost feel the way Derek's hands would clutch at him possessively, protectively, after a fight to make sure Stiles was, in fact, still there. He can almost feel the tickling of Derek's breath behind his ear, waking him up when he falls asleep at the loft on a school night, and guiding him to his car so Derek could drive him home. When Stiles wakes up, he can feel the dried tears on his face. He wipes angrily at his cheeks before pulling out his phone and texting Scott.

Anything from Derek? is what he sends. Scott's reply is almost immediate.

Nothing, sorry buddy.

Stiles turns his face into the arm of the couch and screams. He imagines the feeling of Derek's hands sliding up and down his back, like they used to when Stiles was overwhelmed, and he screams louder. His chest hurts.

It's late now, and Stiles has school tomorrow, so he folds his cover, throws it over the railing, and goes to the kitchen to find his shoes. Stiles reaches the floor, and takes one more look around before he leaves, checking twice that the door is locked behind him. Even though there is nothing to steal, the loft still belongs to Derek, and no one should be there who doesn't belong.

Stiles gets home in record time, showering and laying down in bed. It takes him a while, but eventually he calls Lydia.

"I've got nothing," is what she says instead of "hello".

"Oh," Stiles responds, and then the line goes quiet. Stiles might have thought she hung up if he weren't aware of how their friendship evolved over the years.

Finally Lydia breaks the silence and tells him, "He hasn't forgotten about us, if that's what you're worried about." And then she adds, "He's probably thinking about you as we speak." Stiles' heart lurches in his chest.

"How do you know that?" Stiles asks.

"We're his family," Lydia says smoothly. Stiles tries his best to believe her. She stays on the phone with him until she hears the light snores pass his lips, and then she hangs up. Stiles sleeps well that night.

The pack meets him at the loft on a Friday. They each have some equipment with them; blankets, pillows, take out, a portable DVD player. By the end of the night, they're sprawled all over the couch and floor, bellies full with Chinese food. They talked about how lucky they are now that Beacon Hills has slowed down with supernatural activity. Either way, activity or not, none of them would change the outcome. Had their lives not all been intertwined with werewolf drama, they would not have such a strong bond. Stiles is incredibly thankful for all of them.

Another week goes by without a single sign of Derek. It's a hot Saturday morning, and Stiles is walking his neighbor's Labradors for some extra cash. Deciding it's too hot, Stiles walks them through the park and to the loft. The dogs growl at the door.

"Hush," Stiles chastises. Once the door is open, the dogs bound inside. "How can they have so much energy at ten in the morning?" Stiles wonders aloud. Stiles makes a trip to the kitchen where he grabs two bowls and fills them with water from the tap. Upon calling the dogs' names and settling the bowls in the corner of the entryway, they hustle back to lap at the water. Stiles returns to the kitchen, grabs a bottled iced coffee, and stalks to the living room. He settles in the couch, kicks off his shoes, plops his feet onto the coffee table. Reaching for the remote, he flicks on the TV, and begins taking sips from his coffee. Then he realizes; someone is here.

He reaches deftly for the bat that he keeps under the couch, and readies himself to swing. His eyes frantically search the empty room until they land on a half-naked torso. His eyes scan the body, from the slightly pruned toes, to the white towel wrapped loosely around defined hips, up a chiseled chest, and finally landing on an all too familiar face. Stiles relaxes his grip on the baseball bat.

"You're back," he mutters. Stiles is having a difficult time placing his feelings.

"Isn't it too early to be fighting crime?" Derek asks instead. His eyes crinkle as his lips pull up into a smile. Those stupidly cute bunny teeth sparkle at Stiles. When Stiles doesn't answer, Derek's face drops into a concerned expression. "Hey," he says cautiously, as if afraid that Stiles will disappear if he speaks any louder. Derek takes a few steps forward. "You okay?"

Stiles laughs incredulously. "Am I okay?" he mimics. "Am I- huh, no, I'm not okay, you bastard!" Stiles sees Derek flinch. "You fucking left me! You didn't even bother to call!" He can feel his cheeks heating up, his eyes getting wet. Derek advances, and Stiles turns away, ready to run straight out the door until Derek's hand wraps around his wrist. Stiles stops in his tracks. "Let me go," he utters venomously.

"I tried," Derek hisses. Stiles can feel his own heart rip in two, and Derek must hear it, because suddenly he is all over Stiles' personal space. "Hey, no," he tries, aiming to get Stiles' eyes to meet his. "No, I didn't mean it like that."

"I shouldn't be in love with you," Stiles says, and there is no blip in his heart beat. He is angry now; furious. "You left me," he says again, and those words echo through Derek's entire body as Stiles punches at his bare chest. Derek takes it, fully knowing that he deserves it and so much more. Eventually Stiles tires himself out, collapsing against Derek, using him as a crutch.

"I am so sorry, baby," Derek tells him, wrapping strong arms around Stiles' smaller torso. Over his head, he can see the two dogs staring confusedly at them. He places a kiss onto the crown of Stiles' head. He feels it then, Stiles' body shaking. He's crying, and Derek hugs him tighter. "I thought," Derek starts, voice rough, "I thought I was doing what was best for you. You deserve so much better. I'm so sorry I let you down." Stiles doesn't say anything, but allows his arms to circle Derek's waist. Derek lets out a relieved gust of air, guiding them over to the couch. He sits, letting Stiles easily fall into his lap and slot his face into the crook of his neck.

They're both quiet for a long while, and then Stiles says, "You're so stupid." There is still a lump in his throat, but he feels immensely better than he did before. He pulls away from his hiding place, cupping Derek's face. "You didn't forget about me, did you?" Stiles sniffles.

Derek's breath hitches in a mix of crying and laughing. A tear slides down his cheek which Stiles quickly swipes away. "How could I?" is his whispered response, and then Stiles pulls the older man to him, hugging him tightly, and lets Derek cry into his neck, a litany of "sorry"s leaving his lips. When they're both cried-out, Stiles slides carefully from Derek's lap onto a couch cushion.

"Go get dressed," Stiles orders him. "I'm going to tell the pack that their stupid alpha is home." Stiles doesn't have to see Derek's face to know that he's smiling.

Later, once Stiles has returned the dogs to their owner, the entire pack goes to the loft to welcome Derek home. Scott gives Derek a tight hug with a strong pat to his back; he's missed him almost as much as Stiles had. Allison, Lydia, and Erica demand answers as to where he's been, who he was with, what he did. Erica will deny it, but the wet splotch on his Henley came from the tears that leaked from her eyes when she tackled him in a hug. Jackson gives him a passive nod upon entering the loft, but everyone knows that he is happy to see Derek home and safe. Boyd clasps Derek's shoulder in his hand before he hip checks him, gruffly mumbling, "Missed you." Isaac is the last to arrive, and is so relieved to see Derek that he's at a complete loss for words. He hangs loosely by Derek's side for the remainder of the evening.

When they're all too exhausted to keep their eyes open anymore, they grab the pillows and blankets from around the house and lay them on the living room floor once the couch and coffee table are out of the way. They wish each other good night, and even the humans can feel the happiness radiating off of each other. Everyone is asleep except for Derek and Stiles, who've been laying on their sides, staring at each other, for a while. Bravely, Derek runs a finger up and down Stiles' arm, leaving goosebumps in his path.

"Did you really think I would leave?" he asks. "Like, for good?"

Stiles shrugs, blinks rapidly to stop the tears forming in his eyes at the thought of Derek leaving him, again. Instead of pushing the issue, Derek just whispers, "Okay." And then he says, "Can I hold you?"

"Please," Stiles says, and its like coming up for air. He pushes himself into Derek's space, letting strong arms engulf his frame. They've both got a lot to work on; good thing they're fighters.

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the great response I got from my first story, I decided to go for a second one. I actually wrote it once, and then my computer died and the entire thing got deleted from AO3 :( But I rewrote it the best I could, and I hope you all enjoy it :)


End file.
